


Hard Lines and Leather

by Dragondizzy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drunk Alistair (Dragon Age), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Reunion, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragondizzy/pseuds/Dragondizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair has been living a menial existence in a village somewhere in the Free Marches, following the events surrounding the Archdemon and Loghain. Years have passed since he's seen her, the Warden-Commander, his past lover and continual regret. Little does he know that she won't let him get away so easily...</p><p>Based on the Drunk!Alistair canon from Dragon Age Origins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Lines and Leather

Alistair stared into the empty depths of his tankard, licking the last drop from his lip as he set it back on the bar. Pushing it forward with a finger, he nodded to the innkeeper for a refill. They seemed to empty too quickly these days. Maybe because now it took numerous drinks for the warm fuzziness to envelop him. Typical. Shifting on his stool, he settled back against the wall, casting his gaze across his fellow patrons. The evening air was hot and thick, making him glad that there were few people to raise the temperature of the room further. He felt a trickle of sweat down his back as a freshly filled tankard was slopped next to him.

Each day was the same. Waking with a screaming head, he set to work at the odd jobs left to him – chopping wood, fixing the baker's wagon, hauling fresh kegs into the inn – basically the village dogsbody. In return he was given lodgings, food, and enough ale to drown his sorrows every evening. 'Lodgings' was probably a generous word. His small room adjacent to the stables was barely big enough to swing a nug. It was at least an improvement from being comatose in the inns around Kirkwall – Teagan had convinced him to leave, but he wasn't ready to go back to Fereldan. _Too many...memories_. So here he was, living in a nondescript village in the Free Marches. It was a bearable existence, and it was enough to help him forget.

Well, forget eventually at least. Grabbing his drink, he drained it in one, flicking it forward once again. Years had passed since that day, that damned day when he'd left it all behind. All because of Loghain. At first he was bitter, resenting that the traitor had been spared after all that he'd done. Then, of course, he became a hero, killing the Archdemon, all previous transgressions forgotten. Bitterness turned to begrudging acceptance. _At least she lived_. His former love had survived, then vanished. Rumours of her saving Amaranthine from darkspawn were whispered by passing traders, but they were nothing more than that – rumours. Alistair had given up any hope of seeing her again. Part of him wished he never would, now so ashamed of his behaviour, but lost to it in a never-ending loop of anger and self-pity. 

Nodding thanks as his tankard was topped up, he rose it to his lips while lazily surveying the room. A travelling merchant was dining in a corner with his family, their conversation a quiet murmur. More raucous laughter sounded from a large group in the centre, the local farmer and his workers on a rare evening away from the fields. Chuckling at them into his mug, he paused as his eyes focussed on a solitary figure directly opposite, reclined back into the shadows. Clad in black, their face was hidden by a large hood. Though he could not tell for sure, he could feel eyes boring into him from that darkened face. Whatever their reason, the effect was disconcerting. Slowly placing his drink back on the bar, he tried to remember where he'd left his sword. It was rare, but he had driven off a few bandits in his time here, with little effort. Despite this, the feeling of unease rolling through him was enough to make him cautious.

Eyes never leaving the shadowed corner, Alistair's mind raced with the possible ways of approach. It could be nothing, but something,  _something_ wasn't right. He wasn't unfit, or incapable – the Templar habit of running drills every morning, even with a pounding head, hadn't been forgotten. Glancing around, he assessed the space available to him. The main room of the tavern was quite large, but the people and tables would make a fight difficult. Maybe he could lure them outside? A voice scoffed from the back of his head, saying he was overreacting. It was just another traveller, or merc, on their way through the village.  _No._ The stranger was definitely watching  _him,_ not moving, not drinking. Sucking in a deep breath, he tensed, his body ready, whatever the outcome.

As if sensing his shift in attitude, the figure slowly rose from their seat, limbs unfurling with aggravating calm. Alistair scowled.  _Just get on with it_ . Their gait was steady and controlled, body discipline signalled with each step as they headed straight towards him. Briefly the cloak gapped open, revealing a belt adorned with an assortment of knives. Alistair felt his stomach flip, suddenly feeling very vulnerable in his cotton shirt and breeches. The brief glimpse of daggers reminded him of... _wait_ . His eyes snapped up to the face, squinting to distinguish any features through the shadow of the hood. Without a word, they slid onto the stool next to him. Pointing to a bottle of whiskey on the back shelf, a hand disappeared into the folds of the cloak to pull out a few coins. The bartender placed it down with a glass, casting a worried glance at Alistair. But he was lost, staring at his new companion, looking for anything,  _anything_ that would tell him if it was who he thought it was.

Filling the shot glass, leather creaked as a hand grasped and lifted it to hidden lips. A brief pause, then the liquid was knocked back. The hood of the cloak fell with the fluid movement, revealing red hair tied loosely in a bun. The glass was placed back on the bar as amused eyes regarded him, lips curling into a smirk. Alistair's mouth fell open, jaw working but without sound. A good few minutes passed before he could shape the word.

“S-S-Sarani?!”

“Oh good, you do remember me then.”

She swung in the stool to face him, resting an elbow on the bar top. Leaning, she crossed her legs, cloak falling back to finally unveil all. Alistair continued to gape as he looked her over. She was definitely here, it wasn't a drunken hallucination. It wasn't a foggy half memory – she was  _here_ , all hard lines and leather. She looked older, weary, with a few scars he didn't remember. Rolling her eyes, Sarani waited. Patience wasn't her virtue though, and she nudged him with a foot.

“It's not like you to lose the power of speech.”

“Well...I...”

Sighing, she turned back to the bar to pour another drink. “Yes I'm here, with you, no I'm not dead, yes it's been a long time, and yes I'm still angry with you. That about cover it?”

Alistair still couldn't quite believe what was happening.“You're _here._ Alive.”

Groaning in frustration, she reached across and punched him in the arm. Yelping he leant away, rubbing the sore spot. “Ow, you are angry.”

“Several years of holding a grudge will do that to you.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Alistair shifted uncomfortably under the stare. Now that she was here...he didn't know what to say. Hundreds of times this had played out in his head, yet he was struck dumb. Avoiding her gaze, he picked up his tankard to take a sip.

“So.”

“So...”

“Do I have to hit you again?” Sarani frowned at him, an expression he remembered fondly, yet _really_ not at the same time. Shaking her head, she slipped from the stool, standing stiffly. “If this is all you have to say to me Alistair, then I'm leaving.” With a huff she pulled the hood of her cloak back up and spun on a heel. _No!_ Scrambling to stand, Alistair dropped his cup with a clatter and lunged to grab her arm. Holding it tight, he pulled her back to face him.

“Don't leave me again...”

Wrong words. Stupid man. Her face was bright red with fury as she yanked the hood back down, stepping close to thrust her face in his.

“Don't leave _you_? _DON'T LEAVE YOU_? Are you fucking serious Alistair?” She was shouting as a finger jabbed painfully into his chest. Casting a glance behind her as a hush fell about the inn, Alistair's cheeks reddened at the curious stares of the patrons.

“Ani, please, I -”

“I did it for us Alistair. I kept him alive to save _us_. But oh no, you had to leave in a self-righteous huff, even before I could explain. _You. Left. Me._ ” The words hung there as she spun away, pacing with hands on hips. Despite pretty much agreeing with her sentiment, his stupidity continued to take control.

“Loghain was a traitor, he killed innocent people, he killed my _brother_. Now he's a hero, all thanks to you.”

Stopping her tracks, she whirled to lash out a fist. Instinctively he dodged, and she swung at empty air. Growling in frustration, she delved into her cloak to pull out a dagger. Alistair threw up his hands in placation, eyes wide as she pointed the blade at him.

“Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean-” With a yell she drove the dagger into the bar, embedding it deeply. Eyes welling, she grasped him by the scruff.

“You are an idiot, Alistair Theirin, if you think that I give two flying fucks about how a dead man is remembered.” Releasing him roughly, she sniffed as she rubbed a palm across her face, close enough that her sigh tingled against his cheek. “I came here for you, even though you...you never came back for me.” Bleary eyes fixed onto his. Alistair's heart broke for the thousandth time as she voiced the words that haunted him every night. It was the same disappointed look from the day he had turned and left her, not looking back. Why hadn't he gone to back? Because he was a coward. But not today. _No more._

Taking her hand, Alistair tugged her with him as he made his way out of the tavern, fed up of their audience. Sarani followed in silence, head bowed dejectedly. The evening's humidity was rising, and he could feel his shirt plaster to his back. How she could be in full armour, he couldn't fathom. Pushing his way into the stables, he led her towards his room at the back. The horses stamped and snorted as they passed, but still neither spoke a word. Letting his hand slip from hers, he fumbled in his pocket for the key, finally finding it to jam into the lock. Pausing briefly, he took a glance behind just to make sure she was still there. She was, arms crossed and gaze fixed to the floor. Turning the tumbler with a clank, he hurried into the room, holding the door open as she sauntered in. Clicking it closed behind her, Alistair rested his head against the wood for a second, taking a deep breath.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Ani. I...I thought that you wouldn't take me back after...after I left.” Back still to her, he waited but there was no response. “It's no excuse, but I started drinking to...to forget, and then...” He sighed, turning to slump back against the door. She was stood there, arms still crossed, expression stern as she regarded him. “Too much time passed, I wasn't... _am not_ , worthy. Of you.” He shrugged half-heartedly, knowing that anything he could say wouldn't be enough. Not to him. Sarani snorted, shaking her head. A hand slid up to release the clasp of the cloak at her neck, causing the heavy black fabric to crumple at her feet.

“I refer to my previous statement – you are an idiot.” She smirked at him, hands perching on her hips. He chuckled, nodding in agreement. Slowly she stepped towards him, and he coughed as his throat caught. Pressing close, she stroked a gloved knuckle over his cheek. “I forgive you though. Just this once.” His eyes widened as she grinned at him, dropping her hand.

“You..forgive me?” Sarani nodded, laughing as his mouth fell open in disbelief. This never happened in his imaginary reunions – she always ended up leaving, or dismembering him horribly. Instead she was so close that he could feel her body heat permeate through his shirt, so close he could smell her aroma of sweat and leather. The memories of nights fumbling at each other in a tent came flooding back - the sound of her moans as he kissed her neck, the feel of her nails digging hard into his back. Alistair's heart began to race as he itched to lean forward and dust a kiss on that perfect nose. Clenching his fists in an attempt at distraction, he smiled weakly. “I don't deserve it but...thank you.” Chuckling, she slipped off her gloves and threw them over a shoulder.

“You'll just have to make it up to me.”

“Of cour-mmmphf!” His arms flailed as hot lips were smacked against his, arms sliding around his waist to clasp in a tight hug. It took a good few minutes for him to come to terms with what was happening, incredible as it was. Finding her shoulders, he gently pushed back, both gasping as the kiss was broken. “Ani?! What are you doing?!” This definitely wasn't how he pictured this turning out. Well, maybe sometimes...

She scowled but never let up her grip. “What?”

“After everything, and now...are you sure? I-I don't want to make another mistake.” As much as he loved where this was heading, he wouldn't risk ruining it all. _Not again._ Her expression softened, and she tugged him closer to rest her forehead against his.

“Alistair, _I forgive you_ , and I don't want to waste any more time. We've already wasted years.” Delicately she brushed kisses across his nose, feathered them over his cheeks.

“Maker, I don't deserve you.” Grasping her face in his hands, he drew her in for a deep kiss. Slowly he caressed her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue in to tangle with her own. He had forgotten what she tasted like. No memory did this justice. With a groan he released her face to wrap his arms around her, hands sliding down her back to grasp soft cheeks, their kiss growing more desperate. Hands full of that fantastic arse, he clenched tighter, his growing hardness rubbing agonisingly against her. _It's been so long._ There had been other women, in Kirkwall, but he didn't remember much, being completely intoxicated at the time. They were never _her,_ never enough.

He was brought roughly back to the present, shoved back against the door as she stepped away from him. Frowning, he made to follow until she held up a hand.

“Stay.” Deft fingers began to unbuckle the bracer on one forearm until it was loosened enough to fall on the floor. The action was repeated with the other arm, her eyes never leaving his face. Alistair felt his stomach flutter as she proceeded to undress before him. The tortuously slow pace that she was doing it however was driving him wild. Fingers worked open leather pauldrons that were flung to the corner of the room. Hands slid down legs to unlace and remove boots. The time gave him the chance to truly look at her, to reacquaint the memories with reality. There were scars he didn't remember – a silver streak along the line of her jaw that he longed to trace with a finger. A red blotch on the left forearm that looked recent, like a burn. Each one filled him with guilt and anger at himself, that if he had been there it could have been his injury, his scar. He needed to show her how sorry he was, how much he had missed her. Darting his tongue to wet his lips, he made to step forward.

“Ah, patience. You've waited this long.” Grinning she, began to pull at the lacing of her jerkin, taking a step backwards out of reach. Scowling, he paused, fidgeting on the spot as the leather garment was yanked over her head to join the pile of armour on the floor. A bead of sweat trickled from his forehead as he swallowed hard. Now his love was clad only in shirt and trousers, less intimidating and more... _Maker_. The damp cloth clung to her body, outline revealing that she wore no breast band. With a smirk she gripped the hem and tugged the shirt over her head. His knees trembled as his breathing became ragged, eyes sweeping over every inch of bare skin. The dull glow of the evening caused her moist body to glisten. Breasts heaved in an echo of his own pounding heart. An angry red scar slashed across from rib to opposing hip, distracting him from his appreciation and causing another stab to his heart. The pain that she must have gone through. Noticing his lingering stare, Sarani ran a finger along the mark.

“This was from a particularly angry dragon.” She chuckled, like it was nothing. Well, it probably wasn't for her. Raising her gaze back to his, she slid hands down to her belt to toy with the buckle. “I think it's your turn now.” Scrabbling frantically at his shirt, he nearly ripped it from his body as she laughed. There was no relief of cold air against clammy skin, the air was so dense he felt it settle about his shoulders. He watched as a drop of perspiration slid between her breast to her navel, the heat only adding to the sparking anticipation. She undid the clasp, her eyes darting upwards as she adopted a conniving look. He remembered that look – it either led to someone nearly dying, or both of them running stark naked through the woods. Raising an eyebrow in question, he glanced upwards, only seeing the exposed beams of the barn. _What was she up to?_ Biting her lip, she slowly drew the belt from her waist, and threw it to loop around a beam. His eyes widened as she wrapped the ends around her wrists, giving a testing tug before fixing him with her best come-hither look.

All he could do was gape. Her body was stretched out before him, arms pulled taught above her head. He was dreaming, he had to be, though this was better than _any_ he'd had before. Her eyes narrowed in impatience as she shifted, muscles flexing as she sighed. “Alistair...” Something snapped then, something bottled up for years. The guilt and anger washed off him in waves as he lunged forwards, smothering her surprised yelp with frantic kisses. Calloused hands ran over all of her, each touch sending shivers through his spine. Roughly he tugged her trousers down, peeling them from her legs. He had to have her _now_ , urgency driving him to rip the ties of his breeches for them to fall to the ground. Gripping her ass, he bit hard into her neck as legs wrapped around him, her arms holding her weight with the anchor of the belt.

Her head was thrown back with a moan as he slid inside her. Fingers dug into her thighs as he held her steady to drive in again, groaning as she rocked to meet him. Sweat ran freely down his back, his face, as he thrust hard, tempo wild as he groped for a firmer grip. Raising his head, feral eyes met his own, red hair matted to her forehead as she urged him on. White knuckles grasped the belt tightly, red friction marks around her wrists. Frowning in concern, he wrapped his arms underneath her, trying to bear more her weight. The slickness of their skin made it impossible however, and Sarani laughed as she slowly slid from his grip to stand. Panting, she untangled her arms from the belt, smoothing the marks with a hand. Alistair's arms remained around her, mind conflicted with concern and the _need_ to have his way. About to pick her up and dump her on the bed, he stumbled back in surprise as she shoved him back, pressing him down into a chair. Quickly she straddled him, lowering herself onto his shaft before he even had time to think.

Gripping the back of the chair, she pushed off of the floor to spear herself on him, hard. All he could do was hang on as she rode him, skin slapping skin in a flurry of movement. He watched in awe as her eyes squinted shut, mouth open, her tight body taking in all of him with each thrust. Sweat trickled down her body as he watched. _Sweet Andraste._ Running a hand up her torso, it enveloped a breast, thumb rasping over a puckered nipple, the other hand sliding to where they were joined. Sarani's eyes fluttered open as his other thumb slid between her folds to connect her clit.

“Alistair, oh, _oh.”_ Her rhythm stuttered as he began circling, pressing hard as she resumed, pounding hard on his lap. Hands moved from the chair back to grip painfully at his shoulders. He moved the hand from her breast to instead steady at the hip. The noise she was making, _fuck._ Alistair could feel the coiling pressure build at the base of his cock. He groaned as somehow, _somehow,_ she managed to ride him harder, his length swollen and dripping wet, all from her. The thumb was replaced with fingers as he stroked harder, willing her to fall over the edge with him. His grasp on her hip tightened to match the grip on his shoulders.

“Ani!”

He yelled as he felt her clench around him, spilling forth as she came simultaneously. His name left her lips as she rocked on his lap. Pleasure permeated through his body as his head lolled back, lungs desperately sucking in air. His hands still gripped her thighs, a part of him arguing to never let go, ever. A chuckle made him weakly raise his head. Sarani sat atop him, a hot mess of tangled hair and sweat.

“Well, that's a start.” She crumpled forward to lean against his chest, lips nuzzling his neck. He could feel her pulse racing against his skin as he wrapped arms around her. He was still encased within her, and he didn't want to move. This was perfection, the closeness, connected to her in a way he though was lost forever. Planting a kiss to her drenched brow, he smiled as she yawned. Despite what he wanted though, he could feel her tremble, muscles ravaged from effort. Carefully leaning forward, he slid arms under her as he stood with a wobble. Carrying her over to the bed, Alistair gently laid her down. Smiling sleepily, she reached out for him but he shook his head. Hobbling over to the wash basin, he dipped a cloth into the tepid water. Quickly he wiped himself down, knowing that with the heat it was probably fruitless, but it felt necessary all the same. Rinsing out the cloth, he dampened it again. Hobbling back, he slid next to her in the bed, proceeding to wipe her down with the utmost care. Sarani shook her head amusedly, but allowed him to continue. Softly tracing the scar across her midriff, he paused.

“This should have been me.”

“Hmmm?” The red head was half asleep, lulled by his tender caress.

“I should have been there, with you. Through it all.” She propped herself up on elbows, her head tilted as she smiled at him.

“Well, you won't find me disagreeing with that.” With a wink she nudged him with a shoulder, before flopping back down with a content sigh. “Now, you should get some rest, the making up continues later.” Alistair chuckled, flinging the cloth back at the basin. Snaking an arm around her waist, he held tightly, still not entirely sure this wasn't just a drunken hallucination. They were never so vivid though, and she never stayed, so his hope for the morning held strong. Well, after a night of atonement of course.

 


End file.
